


The Sea

by whitesheets



Series: The Sea [1]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, F/F, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:35:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3950860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitesheets/pseuds/whitesheets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy wants to cross the sea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Just experimenting around, and naturally, our favourite ladies ended up as my lab rats. I plan on adding onto this, in the form of one or two more one-shots, to make a series of sorts when I can find time to write more. In this, Andy doesn't walk away in Paris.
> 
> No beta, so I apologise for any mistakes, but I hope you'll still enjoy!

_I_

The first time Andy sees  _them,_ she thinks she’s dreaming. She must have fallen asleep at her desk, waiting for The Book, and now, she’s stuck in a dream she cannot wake from. Frozen in the shadows of the office after-hours, she watches the pale arch of an elegant neck, watches how he sinks his teeth into a shoulder as his hips move in tandem with soft, quiet gasps.

The shards of pain in her chest speak of anger, jealousy and shock, even as the ache between her legs betrays her arousal. Traitorous, traitorous body.

He groans like an animal, and Andy shudders in disgust. He doesn’t deserve  _her_. He doesn’t deserve to take something as exquisite as the woman beneath him.

She knows Stephen is long gone, she knows there isn’t anyone else.

Except the CEO of Elias-Clarke, now it seems.

Andy grabs the keys she came back for, and leaves without a sound.

She takes a cold shower, but her body still burns when she slips into bed that night. Her orgasm comes like a bullet train, speeding towards her and then slamming into her so hard she sees stars. When she catches her breath, she feels overwhelming shame and takes another shower to scrub the imaginary dirt off her skin.

-

_II_

Miranda stops avoiding meetings with Irv Ravitz and Andy suspects she knows why _._

Because each time she returns from the CEO’s office, the editor holds herself a little bit stiffer and has a tendency to disappear into her office without a word to either assistant.

And each time, Andy fights the urge to storm into her office and demand an explanation. She doesn’t have the right to ask for one, but the word ‘ _why’_ burns into her mind and heart.

Then, one day, she fails a task so spectacularly that Miranda gives her a lecture – it’s so scathing that she almost cries and she hasn’t cried over Miranda’s verbal lashing in months.

It’s not a particularly big mistake, and will not cost money to rectify. Miranda’s lecture doesn’t even mention the mistake in particular – instead, she talks, in her quiet, terrifying voice, about how  _resourceful_ and  _adaptable_ she had believed Andy to be, descriptions which will no longer apply in the future. The moat Andy imagines separating Miranda Priestly and her assistants continues to widen, rolling thunderous with waves so high there is no way Andy can build a bridge across it now. She can try, but the angry water will crash through the reinforcements of her heart and leave her floating without a lifejacket.

And Miranda sits across the great divide, magnificent, imposing and untouchable.

-

_III_

This time around, budget cuts affects many of Elias-Clarke’s other publications more severely than it affects  _Runway._

It’s strange.

In the last quarter, Andy was pretty sure that the people sitting  _upstairs_ were determined to sabotage their flagship publication for a personal vendetta against Miranda Priestly.

There has barely been a ripple in the water for  _Runway_  when this quarter’s budget was announced. Miranda spends more time guiding her ship, protecting her goods from pirates, instead of going out to war, and the magazine’s performance spikes while other publications downsize.

Digital subscriptions hit the roof, and everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

Even Nigel, who has been championing the need to go digital for years, admits that he wasn’t sure if they could have pulled it off.

“She did it,” he breathes, in unabashed marvel and a glimmer of pride in his eyes.

Andy wonders if he still remembers Paris. She wonders if he knows just exactly what Miranda is doing. It may have started in Paris, for all she knows. She remembers sprinting across Paris in her godforsaken heels, remembers her floundering efforts to warn her boss, and remembers a comment about freesias.

More importantly, she remembers the CEO in the Editor-in-Chief’s suite.

She has known all along that Miranda isn’t beyond manipulation to get what she wants. Maybe she gave Irv Ravitz more than a list on that day Andy almost walked away but didn’t.

She wonders if what Miranda is doing is nothing personal, and if that should make her aching heart feel better.

It doesn’t.

-

_IV_

It’s barely noticeable, but because Andy notices everything about Miranda, she notices a small bite-mark, right above a defined clavicle after the editor returns from a lunch-meeting with her superior.

Her stomach churns like rough waters during a storm with the knowledge of what Miranda has done, and who she has been with.

She spends the entire day agonizing on whether she should bring the woman’s attention to it or pretend that she hasn’t seen it. Throughout a run-through, Andy worries if anyone else has noticed the little bruise, and watches everyone’s line of sight like a hawk, missing out on half her notes in the process. And  _because_ she notices these things, Andy catches Jocelyn’s eyes making a slow descend down the editor’s neck and coughs wildly to attract attention to herself.

It works, because everyone turns to look at her, Miranda included, eyes blazing in glorious irritation.

She makes her decision once the last of the editorial team leaves Miranda office.

Silently placing an unopened concealer sample on the glass desk, she forces herself to keep calm when the full blast of an icy glare is trained onto her. She doesn’t say a single word and gestures to her own clavicle before fleeing back to her desk without waiting to hear the dismissal.

When Miranda leaves her office at the end of the day, Andy notices that the bruise has been expertly erased from sight.

-

_V_

Andy brings The Book to Miranda one night, and finds that the editor has been drinking.

The decanter sits half empty on a side-table, and Andy starts to worry.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, holding out The Book like an offering. She doesn’t ask if  _Miranda_  is okay, because that will imply that it is possible for Miranda to be not-okay and the older woman will not take well to that. She’s not even sure if the editor will answer her as it is.

Miranda takes The Book, and waves a hand.

“I should say that everything is better than okay. Everything is spectacular,” Miranda says, sounding very much like her condescending self on every other day. Maybe she can hold her drink really well.

But her hand trembles when she flips The Book open and Andy immediately wants to take it in hers and soothe whatever demons her impossible, beautiful boss is fighting.

“Okay,” Andy says, tone placating. She switches tactics. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Miranda holds her gaze, blue eyes flickering with something sad and hopeless, before shaking her head.

“No. That’s all.”

“Okay. Well, goodnight, Miranda,” Andy replies, and heads home.

She hates the idea of leaving the other woman on her own tonight but she doesn’t have the right to stay.

-

_VI_

The 75th Anniversary Issue deadline looms only a week away and  _Runway_ pulses with endless activity.

Leaving past ten becomes a norm and Andy has taken to sleeping in the office on nights when it is too late to bother making the trip home. She has a little sleeping bag tucked in her drawer, and The Closet has everything she will ever need. She gets more sleep this way, not having to factor in the commute to work and nobody has to know. Miranda leaves late enough to take The Book with her, and Andy stays behind – which isn’t entirely abnormal, since most of the staff are usually still around.

In fact, with this arrangement, she’s the earliest at work and it helps her take care of Miranda more efficiently. She arranges for coffee on time, and takes extra care with Miranda’s breakfast, sometimes cutting up various fruits to be served with vanilla yoghurt she stashes in the office pantry.

Once, while delivering The Book, she saw an empty cup of vanilla yoghurt on Miranda’s desk and it took her two days to find the exact brand (naturally, it is only available in a fancy gourmet store that has only  _one_ outlet in New York).

Miranda doesn’t question the breakfast add-on and never mentions the vanilla yoghurt, but on two separate occasions, Andy catches her lips lingering on the spoon.

It is all the approval she needs.

On her third night camping out in the office, Andy hears footsteps approaching after everyone else has left, and steps behind the shadow of the coat closet instinctively.

The gait is unmistakable, determined and confident.

Didn’t Miranda leave half-an-hour ago?

The editor is with someone else, and without looking, Andy knows who. The burning sensation returns to her stomach, disgust rearing its head.

“Couldn’t we do this tomorrow night? I still have to go through The Book,” Miranda’s soft tone echoes in the emptiness of the abandoned office. She sounds so near, yet Andy stands unmoving in the shadows, powerless to reach out and pull her out of the sea to safety – that’s all she wants to do, has always wanted to do.

“Tonight,” Irv says, and Andy feels like punching him in the face. “We didn’t finish what we started this afternoon.”

Miranda sighs, and then there is silence. Someone turns on the lamp on Miranda’s desk and a soft glow comes from the office.

Andy chances a peek from her hiding spot, and feels her disgust increase tenfold.

Like the first time, she sees pale legs and his broad back. He grunts words Andy doesn’t pay attention to, because her attention is on Miranda, who stares blankly ahead, as if she is somewhere far away.

-

_VII_

Andy thinks she should say something, not due to any suicidal tendencies on her part, but because she can't shake out the vacant look in Miranda’s eyes from her mind. She makes an attempt on the way back from a preview, when the privacy screen is up and she’s sure Roy can’t hear them. She will smash a hole in her little boat with what she’s going to do, and the best hope she has is that she doesn’t drown. Illusions of building bridges just about vanish the moment she hears her own voice speaking with a clarity and strength she did not feel.

“You don’t have to do it,” she says, heart pounding so fast she feels faint.

Miranda tenses, jawline taut.

“What have you seen?” she demands, in a quiet, controlled voice. She doesn’t deny anything, Andy notices, doesn’t even ask what Andy is referring to. Her eyes are hidden behind her shades, but Andy can feel the intensity of her scrutiny all the same.

 _Everything_ , Andy wants to say but refrains. She doesn’t want to humiliate Miranda like that.

“It’s obvious enough, if you know where to look,” Andy replies, gripping her notebook so tightly the edges are beginning to wrinkle. She’s going against survival instincts, which are screaming at her to shut up because Miranda has fired people for lesser offences.

“You are a smart girl, Andrea. I should not have to tell you when it is wise to look away,” Miranda says flatly, and glances out the window.

The conversation is over and Miranda doesn’t fire her. Somewhere along the way, it starts to rain and Miranda stares outside, transfixed by the running water on the window.

Just like that, Andy realises that she has gotten it all wrong.

She doesn’t need to build an unmoving, permanent structure. She isn’t fired and her boat hasn’t sunk. To sooth Miranda’s moods and fill her demands in whatever shape they may come in, she needs to flow around and over obstacles.

And she knows she will never see the heart of the treasure she is protecting, confined to the outskirts of bleak shores. She finds that it doesn’t matter. She only wants to protect this beautiful, lonely island and keep it safe from savage defilers.

Andy is the sea.

-

_VIII_

The CEO of Elias-Clarke shows up one afternoon, and Andy tells him Miranda has gone out for a meeting.

She doesn’t know why, because Miranda  _is_ around, in her executive bathroom doing God knows what – the older woman has been in there for ages.

He takes one look at her, smiles politely, and retreats.

She pulls her courage around herself like a cloak and enters the office once he is safely out of sight.

“Miranda?” She knocks twice on the closed door, and waits a heartbeat. “Are you all right in there?”

She hears nothing, not even the toilet flushing or a running tap, before the door opens and her boss emerges, immaculate. In the corner, just beyond Miranda’s shoulder, she notices the packet of feminine wipes she stocked in the executive bathroom’s cabinet a few weeks ago on the countertop. Miranda will never mention it, because like vanilla yoghurt, it’s not something that needs mentioning – Andy is paid to assist, and the best type of assistance is an art in subtlety.

Miranda glares at her but Andy is already immune.

“Are you okay?” She smiles her most helpful smile.

Miranda only narrows her eyes further at her second assistant in response. Boy, two questions in a row and she has yet to be struck down by lightening. The older woman has been strangely tolerant towards Andy’s questions and fussing recently, so much so that Andy is beginning to think she’s invincible.

“Um, Mr. Ravitz was looking for you,” Andy continues.

A shadow settles on the editor’s sharp features. “Is that so?” she says, almost too neutrally. It’s jarring because Miranda never speaks of Irv Ravitz with anything but barely hidden contempt. But then again, it has been a really long time since Andy has heard her talk about him at all.

“But I told him you weren’t here,” Andy quickly says.

Miranda purses her lips, but the shadow lifts and Andy feels triumphant.

-

_IX_

The second time Andy finds Miranda with the sweet smell of liquor on her breath, the decanter is empty and her porcelain skin is slightly flushed.

She places The Book on the table beside the glass container and kneels in front of the sitting woman.

Miranda barely flinches when Andy reaches out and touches a cool hand.

“Is there something I can do?” she practically begs. There is so much she wants to do,  _needs_ to do but can’t because she has no right to. Whatever she’s doing now has her sailing into unchartered waters. She prays that Miranda is too intoxicated to fire her, or to remember her assistant’s hand on hers tomorrow morning.

“I’m tired,” Miranda says, softly.

“Then rest,” Andy responds, in the same manner. “Do you want to go to bed?” There’s a chance that Miranda won’t remember this either tomorrow morning.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She gets on her feet and leans down to slip an arm around the smaller woman’s waist. “Come on.”

Miranda gets to feet heavily, and Andy’s skin tingles at how much heat the other woman’s body is emitting. Center of the sun hot, she thinks. The editor walks straight, doesn’t slouch, and doesn’t look like she’s had  _that_ much to drink. Still, Andy keeps her arm around her to be safe and Miranda lets her.

She’s never been to Miranda’s bedroom, but the older woman seems to be sober enough to recognize the way so Andy breathes a sigh of relief. She doesn’t want to be stuck out in the hallway, where one of the twins can easily stumble across them. Miranda will not want that.

Silently, she helps Miranda into bed, fully-clothed – she’s not insane enough to help her boss undress. Seeing the pale woman weary, and vulnerable is unsettling, bringing up feelings of protectiveness in Andy with an intensity that surprises her.

She wants to ask if she should stay, but Miranda is already asleep so she brushes her fingers across a flushed cheek before leaving. There is no room to be what she wants to be, not if she wants to be what Miranda needs her to be.

-

_X_

A month later, Andy returns from a quick run to the Sales department, to find Miranda’s office door closed.

Miranda’s door is  _never_ closed just so she can see and hear everything that goes on outside, even if she never appears to notice. But it  _is_ closed, and Andy knows that it can only mean one thing. A dark cloud gathers above her head.

Thank God Emily is out for lunch, because the British woman will inadvertently notice that something odd is happening and while she will never question Miranda, she  _will_ talk to Nigel, or Serena or whoever else who will listen. And everyone knows gossip spreads like wildfire, especially when eighty-percent of the staff here are bona fide divas and drama-queens.

Though, Emily has been gone for fifteen minutes and will return within the next five.

Oh, well. Unlike the rest of the  _Runway_ population, she has fat stored in her body for energy.

 _“Not going for lunch today. No need to rush back,”_ she types on her phone and sends it on its way.

Ten minutes later, Miranda’s door opens and Andy plasters a smile on her face.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Ravitz,” she greets, voice sweet.

“Afternoon,” he mumbles without looking at her, and walks briskly away.

She glares at him until he disappears, pissed off at him for a myriad of obvious reasons and at Miranda too, for getting careless. Fucking the boss in broad daylight, in her damn fish-bowl of an office (which doesn’t even have curtains) isn’t exactly the smartest thing in the world and Miranda is supposed to be the smartest one of them all. Despite it all, Andy still has a sizeable rent to pay since her roommate cum boyfriend left, so she thinks twice about walking into the editor’s office to give her a piece of her mind.

Then again, if Miranda gets fired, Andy won’t even have job to worry about keeping. She isn’t going to be able to keep up with protecting Miranda’s secret if the damn woman isn’t pulling her own weight.

So armed with an advertiser’s brief, she dives in, head first.

“Here you go,” Andy says, placing the printed sheet of paper on Miranda’s desk.

After a moment, the other woman looks up from her laptop, realising that Andy isn’t leaving anytime soon. Good.

“Yes?” Miranda bites, chillingly. Her cold eyes roam over Andy’s body in a customary once-over but there is no nod of approval and Andy feels a little disappointed.

“That was dangerous,” Andy says, quietly.

Miranda’s glare is blistering. “We have had this conversation,  _Andrea._ ”

“I skipped lunch just so Emily would stay out longer.” It’s easy to be brave when she remembers things that Miranda doesn’t seem to. Like the smooth skin above pale knuckles or the way a slender waist fits right along the curve of her body.

“I did not ask that of you.”

Andy clenches her fists by her side. “No, you didn’t. But if I hadn’t come back early, Emily would have already been sitting there,  _wondering_ why your door was shut. People talk.”

“And you are planning to,” Miranda accuses, voice cold.

“No!” Andy protests, fighting the childish urge to sigh and stamp her feet. “I would never. I just – I just want you to be careful. I know it’s not my place –”

“It’s not,” Miranda flatly interrupts.

“I know. It’s not my place to know or see anything. But I saw. I know it’s none of my business. I don’t understand why and it’s definitely not my place to judge who you choose to love but –”

“Love? You think this is about  _love_?” Miranda sneers, eyes flashing dangerously.

“I don’t know,” Andy says, truthfully. She has had a lot of theories about what  _this_  is about, but she has tried her best to imagine the best case scenario. She has a giant capacity for denial and it’s easier to pretend that Miranda is at least a little bit happy in some ways, even if she is miserable in many others. It makes the permanent heaviness lodged in her chest easier to bear.

“No. You don’t.” Miranda picks up the brief and flicks her wrist. “That’s all.”

Andy wants to argue, wants to shake the woman and scream that it  _isn’t_ all, but Emily’s skittish footsteps is fast approaching.

“Please be careful,” she whispers, and returns to her desk without waiting for a response.

When she crawls into bed at night, she feels more like a block of ice than water.

In the morning, she gapes at the silver Mercedes waiting in front of her apartment.

“Sorry Andy, I’d no idea,” Roy says, apologetic and pulls the door open before Andy can reply.

“Good morning, Miranda,” Andy says, forcing herself to smile as if her employer picks her up on the way to work every single day.

Miranda doesn’t reply, choosing instead to read the emails on her phone.

Fifteen minutes later, crawling in the midst of a typical New York morning jam, Andy blinks into alertness when she hears the mechanical whine of the privacy screen going up.

“You’re getting bold, aren’t you?” Miranda says, evenly. The look she gives Andy is more contemplative than angry.

Andy keeps silent, unsure as to what she’s expected to say. There is no denying that she  _is_ getting bold. She would have been fired a long time ago, if that is what Miranda wants.

“Asking questions, being so annoyingly concerned. So presumptuous about what I need and so judgmental about my decisions, decisions you cannot even begin to understand. And you stand there, looking so  _disappointed_ in me, as though I had an obligation to you,” Miranda says, rolling her eyes. “I don’t.”

“I know you don’t,” Andy says, blindly. She doesn’t say that whatever Miranda is accusing her of is only possible because Miranda has allowed it. And it almost feels as if Miranda is bothered by what Andy thinks, but that is impossible. Miranda never bothers herself with what  _anyone_  thinks, least of all, her second assistant. Even so, she thinks maybe Miranda needs to hear it, so she says: “I’m not disappointed in you.”

“Aren’t you?” Miranda snorts, derisively.

Andy shakes her head. “I could never be.”

“Then kindly explain what you were attempting to achieve yesterday.”

There are so many things Andy can say to explain. ‘ _I don’t want Irv to take you down with him because he thinks with his cock’_  is high on the list. She knows though, that Miranda’s pride will not let her acknowledge that such things are possible, that she is human after all. But it’s too late. Andy already knows that Miranda Priestly is as human as the rest of them, regardless of the pedestal her fans and minions place her on.

“Would you like to fire me?”

Miranda purses her lips in displeasure. “Don’t be daft.”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” Andy says. And yesterday was a failed attempt at  _flowing_  over obstacles – her anger and frustration had propelled her forward, crashing against the rocky shores of her beautiful, lonely island.

“You are very insistent on that,” Miranda says, the inflection of her voice quieter than usual. In normal circumstances, the lower her voice, the more deadly her fury. What does she expect Andy to do? Fling herself out of the moving car? But Miranda obviously thinks firing Andy is “daft” so maybe, her voice means something else entirely.

“He’s getting careless,” Andy continues, unable to hold back now that Miranda has reopened this conversation against all odds. “Things are noticeable if you pay attention and sooner or later, someone  _will_ pay attention enough to see all the signs.”

“Like you have?”

Andy bites her lip. “The difference is, I’m trying to make sure nobody else does. I can’t say the same for everyone. I don’t know your standing arrangement, but –”

“There is  _no_ standing arrangement,” Miranda snaps.

Andy frowns. “Uh – that’s not what –”

Miranda doesn’t let her finish. “It was meant to be  _once_.”

“Oh,” Andy says, stupidly. She has never expected Miranda to explain herself and doesn’t know how to react to the information.

“It was necessary.”

“Paris?”

“The one and only,” Miranda confirms, disdainfully. “Rather romantic.”

“But isn’t this – well, sexual harassment?” Andy says, aghast. “If he’s making you do this against your will.”

If anything, Miranda only sits straighter at Andy’s outrage. “ _Runway_ is doing better than ever and you will  _not_ jeopardize that out of some silly sense of moral obligation,” she says, sharply. And maybe, aside from  _Runway_ , Andy thinks that Miranda is too proud to admit that Irv Ravitz has this kind of power over her – that  _anyone_ has this kind of power of the great Miranda Priestly.

Andy wants to cry like a petulant child. “It’s not silly. It’s not fair.”

“Life is never fair, Andrea. I thought you would have understood that after all these months,” Miranda says, perfectly calm.

“But you’re so sad. I hate it. I really hate it.” Unable to stop herself, Andy reaches out and takes Miranda’s hand in hers. The editor’s eyes widen at the contact, but Andy doesn’t care. She just wants desperately to pull Miranda to safety, and this is the only way she knows how.

Miranda doesn’t reply, but she lets Andy hold her hand until they reach Elias-Clarke.

-

_XI_

It becomes a norm to find the silver Mercedes waiting for her most mornings.

Andy always says good morning, and Miranda always responds by unloading a million and one tasks onto her assistant. When the list ends, Andy’s cramping hand seeks the other woman’s tapered fingers, taking the hand in hers with a boldness that Miranda has rightfully accused her of being.

 _That_ has become a norm too.

But aside from their ritual contact in the mornings, nothing else changes at work. Andy finds the ache in her chest and turmoil in her belly intensifying each time she updates Miranda’s schedule with a budget meeting with Irv Ravitz. To be privileged enough to hold Miranda’s hand and know that she is fucking someone else at the same time hurts. All she can do is try her best to keep people from discovering and ruining her beautiful, lonely island, but some people have ships large enough to sail right over Andy and mar her pristine shores.

All they do is plunder and take and take.

So Andy does what she does best, and gives Miranda all she has to give. While Emily takes care of  _Runway_ ’s Miranda, Andy works tirelessly to take care of  _her_ Miranda. She buys vanilla yoghurt, continues stocking up the editor’s private bathroom and tries to arrange Miranda’s appointments in such a way that she won’t be in the office during lunch hours, the seemingly preferred time for their CEO to make impromptu appearances. She makes sure Miranda never misses any of her daughters’ recitals, and has the housekeeper prepare a special treat for the girls’ dinner whenever Miranda works late at the office. It is bribery, but it keeps them happy, and Miranda gets to goes home to happy children after a long day.

She can only hope that all she has to give is enough to make up for all that is being taken.

-

_XII_

The third time Andy finds Miranda with the glass decanter, it’s still mostly full. Still, she kneels, takes the familiarly soft hands into her own, because now, she  _can._  Andy knows the other woman sober – her hands aren’t shaking, and eyes are a clear blue – but she asks anyway.

“Is everything okay?”

Miranda nods, slowly.

“Tired?”

The editor tilts her head. “Are you?”

The question catches Andy unexpectedly. “Am I what?” she says, before she can stop herself.

Miranda only shrugs. “Tired.”

Andy  _is_ tired. She can’t help it. It’s not easy, trying to keep one pace ahead of Miranda Priestly. She won’t admit it to the woman herself though, and stubbornly shakes her head.

“Ridiculous girl. I know how much you’ve been doing, Andrea, and you will not lie to me,” Miranda says, lacking the usual caustic sharpness. She has a beautiful voice, when she sounds like this. Andy can even tell herself that it is almost caring, not quite affectionate and still believe it.

“I’m sorry.”

The whole situation is ridiculous, Andy thinks. Being on her knees, on Miranda’s expensive floors, holding Miranda’s hands. What are they doing? What have they been doing? She thinks of building bridges and sailing rough seas to reach a hidden paradise – how wrong she was for the longest time.

“Your time is almost up.”

Miranda’s words stab right at Andy’s heart because she realises she doesn’t want to go anywhere.

“Are you sending me away?” Andy’s stomach rolls. She is going to be sick.

“No,” Miranda says, sharply. Her fingers tighten on Andy’s hands, full of power and a little desperation.

The nausea ebbs away.

“Andrea –”

“I love you.”

Miranda blinks.

Andy shakes her head. She doesn’t know why, or how, or even  _when_. The only thing she knows is that she loves the difficult woman in front of her in this fleeting moment in time. All she wants is for Miranda to know that someone loves her, that someone else hurts when she’s hurt.

“I see,” Miranda says, softly.

It is all Andy needs to hear.

-

_XIII_

Two weeks before the date which marks Andy’s full year at  _Runway_ , Miranda asks her to make a decision on which publication she wants to go to. So she makes a list, and then makes lists for each item on her original list.

Andy doesn’t want to leave, but has accepted that she has to. If she doesn’t leave willingly, Miranda will fire her – the editor has made that quite clear one morning in the town-car, while Andy’s thumb makes gentle caresses on the back of her hand. She doesn’t ask why Miranda is so insistent – she knows that Emily has been with Miranda for over a year now, and the editor is certainly not making any threats of unemployment towards her first assistant for not wanting to leave her side. Perhaps it’s easier to keep Emily, who does her work well and doesn’t make declarations of love to her employer.

It makes Andy sad, knowing that in two weeks, the best-dressed woman in New York will no longer be the first person she sees every morning. Andy’s confession hasn’t changed the status quo and she doesn’t expect it to – it seems that holding Miranda’s hand is all she is destined for. She makes every attempt to memorise the weight of Miranda’s hand in hers, the softness of her skin and the unique scent left on her own hand once they leave the privacy of the town-car.

She pulls out her list on her last week, after delivering The Book, but fails to keep the desolation out of her voice when she explains her pros and cons for each not- _Runway_  she has noted down.

“Stop it,” Miranda snaps, halfway through the pros of going to  _Vanity Fair_.

“Sorry?” Andy stammers, taken aback by Miranda’s callousness.

“Have I banished you to  _Auto Universe_?”

“No?”

“Then stop sounding so miserable at being given an opportunity I do not give to most,” Miranda says, irritation hiding the flash of hurt Andy manages to catch. “Had I known that my kindness will be so  _unwanted_ –”

“No!” Andy immediately interrupts, flying from her chair to her knees in front of Miranda within a heartbeat. She takes the hands she has taken so many times before, and presses her lips against soft skin. Miranda stares at her, incredulous, and Andy takes the opportunity to explain. “It’s not that at all. Don’t you understand? I’m just sad that I won’t see you anymore after I leave. You won’t be the first person I say good morning to everyday, and I can’t set out breakfast for you and make sure you eat… I’m sorry if it made you think I’m ungrateful. I’ll just miss you so much and that’s something really sad for me.”

“You really shouldn’t make a habit of kneeling in front of me that often,” Miranda finally says, almost sounding like she’s teasing.

It takes a few seconds for Andy to realise that Miranda is tugging at her hands and ends up sitting in the small space beside Miranda. Out of habit, she reaches out to keep a hand on the older woman’s pale one.

“I’m afraid I will have to disappoint you, Andrea. As it seems, you will still have to see me after you leave,” Miranda says, tilting her head. She is watching Andy carefully, testing the waters, even if her voice is no less self-assured than usual.

“You didn’t tell me that.” Andy tries not to tremble with joy.

“I didn’t think I needed to,” Miranda replies, eyes soft.

Andy shivers anyway, with anticipation and sheer happiness. She hasn’t felt this hopeful and good in months. Then, she remembers and plunges straight down in despair.

“You needn’t worry about that,” Miranda says, like she has read exactly what Andy is thinking. “I have – dealt with the matter last week.”

“You mean, you’re not going to… Will  _Runway_ be in trouble?”

“I will not allow that.” There is such conviction in Miranda’s voice that Andy has no reason to disbelief her. “ _Runway_ was never in trouble, not in any real sense. It was just easier.”

Miranda doesn’t say it, but Andy hears it anyway. Tired. Miranda has been too tired after Paris, to spend time fighting for budgets, for her decisions, when she can offer herself and have all of  _Runway_ ’s most critical needs dropped right onto her lap. Andy thinks of the only time she has ever heard Miranda say she was tired, and the significant amount of alcohol involved.

“I’m so glad,” Andy breathes, feeling a thousand times lighter. She doesn’t mind if there are some things Miranda is too proud to admit, so long as she is not too proud to let Andy be there when it matters. Maybe one day, she will even trust Andy enough to let her wash all her troubles and worries away.

“As am I,” Miranda agrees, lacing her fingers perfectly with Andy’s.

For now, free of the heaviness she has been carrying around with her, Andy rises up into heaven, and rains down on the lushness of her precious island, forming new rivulets, soothing and nurturing as she flows along rough edges and breathtaking beauty.

“May I kiss you?” Andy asks.

And her island blossoms, full of life.

 

_fin_


End file.
